


The Breakdown Fics

by AToZRainToBe



Series: The Hermit Town Series [3]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst to come, By the time I’m done there will be too many tags, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grian gives Mumbo a hug (not literally), Grian has wings, Hurt/Comfort, Mirrors, Multi, Mumbo experiences dying but not really, Mumbo needs a hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Hand-Holding, Platonic Relationships, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, honestly someone revoke my right to tag, shape shifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AToZRainToBe/pseuds/AToZRainToBe
Summary: The place where everything goes wrong with being a part of or eligible for the Advanced Powers Program. Also, this is the part where I say fight the immoral sides of governments, kids.Aka: How many times can I make hermits suffer in an alternate universe before it gets too personal for me?
Relationships: Mumbo Jumbo & Grian, Mumbo Jumbo & Grian & Iskall85
Series: The Hermit Town Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708900
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. Mumbo Had An Idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so:
> 
> Mumbo’s powers amplify his suffering when trying to create an original idea or attempting to make something from nothing instead of trying to fix something. So if Mumbo tries to make something like a car engine that’s slightly changed or a part he needs, his powers go “oop gotta make this interesting”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Death, mentions of blood, mentions of a panic attack, mentions of suffocating/not being able to breathe, mentions of a loved one dying. 
> 
> If you can or may be triggered by any of the above, don’t read. If you are in a bad headspace and may be set off by any of the above, don’t read. I care about you and don’t want you to suffer just because you read some formation of words on the internet <3

He has an idea.

He sits at his workbench, the lamp next to him the only source of light bright enough to show the paper in front of him. Outside, stars are shining, not clouded by the usual light pollution. Mumbo would look at them, but he has an _idea._

He runs a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat, as he grabs a pencil. It’s thin between his fingers, easy to get comfortable holding. The ground beneath him is clear and smooth, cold and grounding beneath the pads of his feet.

A small breeze brushes though the garage workspace, wrapping itself around Mumbo. He lets the shiver ripple through him, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out his mouth. He has _an idea._

The lamp flickers a little as it settles back into illuminating the room, scaring Mumbo slightly. He takes another deep breath- it was supposed to happen, it’s not a sign, it’s alright. He takes a moment to twirl the pen, watching it move between his fingers, and settles his hand down to begin writing. He _has an_ _idea._

He lowers the pencil, focusing, and lets the lead touch the paper. _He has an idea._

_There is no chair underneath him. He falls to the ground, mirrors surrounding him, each a different version of him. The Mumbo in front of him looks down at his clumsy figure, hands either side of its body. Mumbo fumbles to get back up, his casual clothes replaced by a suit._

_A suit. The jacket is formal, sleek and coloured black. The shirt underneath is crisp and white, paired with a red Windsor Knott tie. The pants are- well, tight, for one- and stiff as he stood up._

_The lines of different hims are all wearing the same suit. Some had different ties, but- most were red. Mumbo pulls at jacket, attempting to free his arms, but the Jacket clings to him._

_He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and when he opens them he’s drowning. The heaviness in his lungs weighs him to the floor, as the millions of Mumbo’s around him phase in and out of his vision- he catches glimpses of a table, of movement, of a formation of something._

_The scent of lavender fills his nostrils, the feeling of grass and bread surrounding his fingers. His feet stand on slime, thick and cold against his skin, as vines seem to twist around his arms and neck. A soft pillow is what keeps his neck up, suspended in some sort of stasis._

_Water splashes over his face as he jolts forward- or upward, Mumbo can’t tell- and his hands fly to the spiking pain in his chest. He jerks, his body involuntarily twitching as he speeds through whatever transition is happening. Acid rises, clawing to the back of his throat as Mumbo clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to keep his dinner inside._

_When he comes to rest again, there’s a knife in his stomach. Blood on his hands. The world sways beneath him, the horizon line blurring, and theres- someone-_

_Mumbo wraps his hands around the knife’s handle, keeping it inside of him, steadying himself. He’s careful not to put pressure on the wound, as he looks up._

_In front of him-_

_Mumbo sees a white-eyed, blue shirted person. Their face twists to a smirk, and Mumbo thinks of Joe’s same smirk as whoever this is pushes their hands against Mumbo’s and plunges the knife deeper into him. Mumbo coughs, blood coming out, and when he looks up again the person who had done this is_ mocking _him._

_There are- there are hermits all around him. They’re cheering. Someone is talking- saying ‘finally’, saying It ‘thought this would never be over’, saying ‘Thank god he’s dead’. Mumbo coughs again, shivering, as his knees give in under him._

_The white eyed man kneels down to meet him, pushing Mumbo’s hands away from the knife. The energy leaves him so quickly, Mumbo feels like he’s plummeting again. He doesn’t notice when the knife is ripped from his chest, doesn’t recognise the screams as being his until someone is_ touching _him-_

_Someone is_ screaming _for him to wake up._ Someone _is telling him it’s going to be alright, and it smells like Grian, and it feels like Grian, but the voice sounds like Iskall and the clothes he clutches to feel like False’s-_

_The scent of fire fills his lungs, the feeling of dirt surrounding his body. It’s the first time, Mumbo thinks, that this transition has him gasping for breath while he feels six feet underground. It’s certainly the first in months, at least._

_Mumbo presses a hand away from himself, against the dirt- the ghost of pain ricochets through his body, leaving him gasping for air he can’t get. His lungs- he only has time to focus on them now, as he’s trying to breathe through the convulsing and twitching he doesn’t mean to do- are filled with rocks._

_Cold and wet, Mumbo is pushed through the barrier between worlds far too quickly. When he comes out the other side, his hands are shaking and bile rises into his mouth. He swallows, the taste sickening, ._

_Before him are- it’s Doc and Ren. A few paces away, Mumbo recognises something large and flamboyant- Probably Tango- dancing down the street with two other figures. Doc turns to Ren, patting the smaller’s shoulder, before nodding to Mumbo._

_He feels sick again._

_“Look, don’t- I’m really sorry,” Ren’s voice almost breaks towards the end, as the man casts his gaze down to his feet. “I swear I didn’t- I thought-“_

_Mumbo’s mouth moves automatically. Like he’s… programmed. “I know, Ren, it wasn’t your fault,” He says, his heart rising and sinking at the same time, as his stomach flips. “Sometimes things like this happen.”_

_Ren chuckles, breathless. “I know, but I also know how much Grian and Iskall meant to you,” The smaller man looks up towards him, eyes wide and- and sad, endlessly sad. “Just… don’t get hung up on them, okay? They’re gone, I’m sorry-“_

_“I won’t,” Mumbo responds before he thinks. “Thank you for apologising, Ren, but I really don’t want to talk about this.”_

_Ren nods. “We’re- we’re here for you if you do.”_

_Mumbo watches Ren leave, the street smelling of the aftermath of rain. Night settles in, spinning a chilly breeze past Mumbo. He takes a step forward, determined to find what he has to… determined to find something he needs to fix?_

_His head is swimming, his hands fidgeting. Mumbo takes another step, feeling tears well up inside him as his heart plummets. It feels like his heart is sitting, buried deep beneath him, as his body empties out the last of his human emotion._

_When he falls to his knees, he falls right through the ground, and into a space where everything is gone. He doesn’t feel a single thing in his lungs, or around him, he only feels space where things should be. There is nothing there to greet him, no pillowed vines or fire._

_And it smells like oil._

_It_ reeks _of oil._

_Mumbo is plummeted further into the space where there is nothing, his mind backtracking as he fumbles desperately to grab onto something. He’s falling, he thinks, it feels like he’s falling-_

_-he hits a bed, and there is yelling, but his ears are clogged with something and he can’t_ hear _. There’s a hand pressed against his forehead, another in his own, someone is begging for help, and he can’t-_

_-stop falling. His eyes are open now, but there’s nothing to look at, nothing around him but his own body and space. He shuts his eyes in the darkness and-_

_-opens them to find himself knee deep in red powder, hands trembling as he brings it up to his face, body on edge waiting for something to hit, but there’s some-_

_-but there’s no one there, only air. He can’t breathe, his lungs are filled with cotton and his mouth is clamped shut. So he takes-_

_-the gun from his side pocket and pushes it against the forehead of their captive, chucking lowly to himself. This-_

_-This won’t end. He manages to grab something, but it’s gone a moment later. He-_

_-begs Grian to stop, but the man’s eyes are devoid of humanity. Mumbo can’t-_

_-feel his legs as he falls, he’s desperate for-_

_-some sign that this is right. His hands are-_

_-reaching desperately for something-_

_-he can’t reach. Tears-_

_-burn down-_

_-his face-_

_-as he-_

_-closes-_

_-his eyes._

_He had an idea._

Grian swings open the Workshop door, humming. “Mumbo!” He calls out in the large garage-like space he finds himself in. Only his voice responds, so he pushes deeper, assuming his old-fashioned friend is still working. “Mumbo?”

It smells distinctly of oil and metal in the workshop, which Grian assumes is where Mumbo himself gets the scent from. The hint of vanilla is a surprise, though. He moves past an exposed car’s engine, turning towards a small rattling noise.

Perhaps that’s where Mumbo is?

He turns past a few more bits of machinery he doesn’t recognise- or care about, really, none of it seems like something he could joke about breaking. His stomach begins to twist at the lack of response from his friend, as he calls out one more time.

His ears lead him towards where he assumes the rattling is coming from, fidgeting with the end of his sleeve. Perhaps it was too early? Mumbo was usually awake at this time, but Grian was really eager this morning- what if he’s here too early?

He takes a breath and steps around a suspended car, towards the desk. Light reflects off the roof and gives a comforting aura, as Grian nods to himself. Mumbo must be doing desk work, then, or messing with something small. No wonder he didn’t hear Grian, he must be so caught up in-

Mumbo is curled in on himself, chair pushed aside, huddled on the floor and leaning against a car opposite the desk. His shoulders are drawn inwards, feet as tightly pressed to his chest as they can be, eyes empty as he stares at the desk’s top. Grian takes a step forward, cautious.

“Mumbo?” He asks, tilting his head.

There is no response from his friend, aside from a very gentle twitch. When Grian steps again, awkwardly fumbling with his own footing and desperate not to fall, Mumbo sucks in a shaky breath.

Oh. _Oh._

Iskall told him about these. He was supposed to… do something? All instructions flee Grian’s mind as he follows Mumbo’s gaze towards the desk. Suspended above the desk is a 3D blueprint for a complicated machine. Grian takes a moment to appreciate the familiar Mumbo-like design, fitting with the rest of the more complicated work in the garage, before he turns towards his friend again.

He lowers himself to his knees in front of Mumbo, interrupting the Builder’s sight of the desk, and takes a deep breath. “Mumbo, can you hear me?”

There is a split second where Mumbo opens his mouth to answer, and Grian swears this must be a test-or a joke. Then Mumbo’s mouth clamps shut again, a noise rising from the back of the mechanic’s throat. Grian takes another breath.

“Hey, okay, I know you can’t hear me, but I’m going to touch you, okay?” Grian bursts out, as a calming statement to the two of them, shaking as Grian reaches out and gently peels Mumbo’s hands away from his knee. Grian presses his and Mumbo’s palms together, taking another deep breath, before moving Mumbo’s other hand and pressing it to his chest. “You probably still can’t hear me, but I need you to breathe with me.”

Grian slowly inhales, pauses, and exhales just as slow as he inhaled. He repeats this three or four times, watching Mumbo’s features calm slightly. “Good, that’s great, Mumbo,” He says. “That’s a great sign-“

The moment the words leave his lips, Mumbo clenches up again. He flinches from Grian’s grasp, breath leaving him, as he curls inwards and begins to cry. Grian retracts his hands, frowning to himself, and takes a deep breath. He settles his hands in his lap and looks towards his trembling friend, who’s eyes dart everywhere but never seem to see anything.

“Mumbo, I’m still here, it’s okay,” Is the first thing he thinks to say, before he gets off his knees and crosses his legs to sit on the floor in front. Grian takes another breath, trying to remain calm. “I’m not going to leave you alone, but I’m not going to touch you all that much because I don’t know if that’s hurting, okay?”

Despite Mumbo’s lack of response, Grian continues on. “I am going to take your hand, though, because I need to keep you breathing,” Grian reaches his hand out and takes Mumbo’s left hand in his own right hand, careful to be as slow as he can manage being- he vaguely remembers Iskall telling him that fast movements make it worse. “Okay, I’m going to press your hand against my chest, and I need you to breathe with me, okay?”

Mumbo’s eyes jump from one place to another, now including looking at him- which, Grian figures, is a good sign. A sharp breath escapes Mumbo as Grian presses Mumbo’s hand to his chest. Careful to be gentle, he rests both of his hands on top of Mumbo’s, and watches the dark eyes of his friend to make sure he isn’t harming the man.

There’s no negative response, and Mumbo doesn’t pull away, so Grian begins to focus on his breathing. The low humming that comes from the desk behind him fades, replaced by their near-synced breath. While his breath is slowing, Mumbo’s eyes still flicker, never resting on one spot too long.

“Hey, Mumby, it’s alright,” Grian keeps his focus on Mumbo’s face. Mumbo’s brows have softened, less tight, his lips resting so he can breathe through his mouth. His cheeks are flushed, hands cold against Grian’s skin. Mumbo’s features are a work of somewhat distressed art, eyes all over the place, and always coming back to where their hands are connected. Grian continues talking; “I’m still here, and I’m not leaving. You’re alright, I’m here.”

Mumbo’s eyes flick upwards to Grian’s, then down to Grian’s neck, coming back to where Grian has his hand’s around Mumbo’s. “Good breathing, Mumbo, I’m proud of you,” Grian releases Mumbo’s hand, bringing it to rest on his thigh as he traces a pattern on Mumbo’s palm. Grian finishes by placing his hand in Mumbo’s, keeping the contact. “You’re safe, I’m here. I’ll still be here when you’re alright. I’m not leaving.”

Mumbo’s eyes stay focused on where their hands lay and he takes a shaky breathe before he looks back towards Grian’s eyes. “Hey,” Grian says, smiling at Mumbo.

Mumbo swallows, opening his mouth again to breathe in and out- slow enough for Grian to know he’s not panicked. Though Mumbo makes the move to speak, Grian begins for him; “Hey, you don’t need to speak. I don’t need an explanation. Just nod if you’re okay, alright?”

Mumbo’s mouth closes again, eyes still connected to Grian’s as he nods. “That’s good, I’m proud of you,” He replies. Mumbo’s back sinks against the car door as Grian speaks. “Do you want me to keep holding your hand or do you want me to stop?”

Grian keeps his hand still against Mumbo’s. The last of the stress has left Mumbo’s face, leaving him with a softer, more relaxed, fresh face. In the lamp light, Mumbo’s features are dusted with gold, lips shut as he breathes evenly through his nose. His eyes are flecked with deep brown, face still flushed from his tears, as Mumbo intertwines their fingers together.

Grian smiles. He reaches forward slightly and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears at the edge of Mumbo’s eyes, sitting back to let quiet stay between them. “I’m proud of you, okay? And you’re alright. I’m going to stay here, and I don’t think any lesser of you.”

Mumbo’s lips twitch upwards. The moustached man clears his throat, saying; “Thanks, Grian. You’ve- that- that was really nice, of you.”

Grian smiles, tugging at his jumper so it settles comfortably on him once again. He lets his shoulders relax, letting go of his focus on their breath as he comes to realise Mumbo’s difficulty has passed.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Mumbo sighs, eyes fixated on the ground between them. “I- Iskall didn’t- did he tell you? About it?”

“Some parts, but honestly, it all escapes me,” Grian chuckles. “And, y’know. I don’t really need to know why or how or when, so long as I get to help. You don’t have to talk about it, okay?”

“No- no, I should,” Mumbo’s breath rattles through him. “I’ve… I’ve been told it’s good to talk about. But, uh, I just… I tend to…”

Mumbo fumbles, gesturing in the air towards nothing. “I tend to ramble about it?” He finishes. “Iskall doesn’t say it, but I know rambling gets annoying, and sometimes when I get started- I- I just tend to bring it up repeatedly. It’s kind of, uh, like going over it a bunch of times in my head helps me… understand?”

“That sounds stupid,” Mumbo sighs, resting his hand back down. “Sorry.”

“It didn’t sound stupid,” Grian replies. “I don’t mind you rambling, either. I might not- well, I definitely won’t be able to, like, say anything about it but I don’t mind listening.”

Mumbo’s shoulders sink, as his smile widens to become a small, soft feature of happiness. Grian gives an equally relaxed smile back to the man.

“And you don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Grian says. “Not right now, anyway. You can talk about it later, or tomorrow, or in an hour. I don’t mind when.”

Mumbo’s eyes connect with his, and Grian hopes his own eyes aren’t betraying him here. He tries his best to give as much acceptance as he can through that subtle bit of contact, tried to convey all the things he can’t say in his own words. He’s never been good with words.

Mumbo smiles, and then perks up. “Oh my word, I’m so sorry!” He says, fumbling as he pulls away from Grian’s hand. “I completely forgot about our plans, oh my word, I’m such a spoon-“

“Mumby, it’s alright,” He says. “My wings come second here, okay? The important thing is that you’re doing better. It’s not like I’m going to be showing my wings off anywhere.”

Mumbo relaxes again, chuckling at Grian’s last statement. “Yeah, you’re right,” He says. “Still, though, I can groom them if you’d like.”

“If you feel up to it,” Grian shrugs. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything. If you need to be alone, that’s alright.”

“No, no, I’m good,” Mumbo replies. “Shaky, fragile, but good.”

Grian smiles. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all, it’s me 
> 
> The local pal with too many thoughts. I wrote that breakdown fic I promised for Mumbo and then ended up having thoughts about how to make others suffer so guess what I’m doing for the rest of my weekend !! 
> 
> Schools out for a long weekend so hopefully I get more done, I’ve been writing a lot of backstories and Headcannons but idk if it would be interesting ?? Lemme know if you wanna see that cause I might mess around and post it 
> 
> Remember to love yourself and each other <3


	2. Ren Hates It.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when you take a shapeshifter at a young age and force them to constantly change their form so that they never really get to feel comfortable in their own skin?
> 
> Find out here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Self-hate, mentions of blood, mentions of harm, Tears, vague mentions of past bad times. 
> 
> Please don’t read if you feel like this could set you off or make you hurt. The universe loves you ! <3

Shards hit the floor, reflecting his room in a broken image as he stands, still, breathing heavily. His fist stings, small pinches of glass piercing him, as Ren buries his face in his forearm and _sobs._

There is nothing he can do to stop feeling this.

More shards fall as as he removes his fist from the shaking mirror. In the reflection of the parts still intact with the frame, Ren sees a myriad of himself, a myriad of different flaws. The breath leaves his lungs as more tears pour from his eyes.

The knot in his throat lessens, dissipating to become the pain he feels in his unclenched hand. Ren curls in on himself, disgusted, avoiding the shattered reflections of himself on the floor.

He shifts to be as small as he feels, letting himself sit with his elbows resting on his thighs. He tangles his hands in his hair, breathing slowly, hating the way his fingers feel against his skull. Hating the way his hair feels. Hating the look of his nose.

He hates and hates and hates, but he can’t _fix._ So, so desperately, the yearning to fix himself settles in his lungs like a brick against his back, like glue on his hands, a sluggish feeling in his bones. Hopelessness, Ren knows, hopelessness is what settles against him like this.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Ren sits on the floor- and hates.

He hates in a way that can’t be cleaned up, not like the blood trickling down his hand and splatting on the floor below or matting his hair. He hates in a way that can’t be faced by accepting who is in the mirror. Because there is no memory of who he was- not a single photo, or video, that he can see. He will never be who he was supposed to be- that person will never exist again.

He hates that he‘ll never know what he really looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop 
> 
> Wrote this because I’ve been kinda struggling with body image, Quarentine got me like “I’m doing three different types of fitness but still struggle to lose wait due to back issues, man I hate myself hahahahaha lmao” 
> 
> Anyways Ren is a shapeshifter!!! Good for him. Yes I’m aware other people got him as a werewolf but I had the idea of a shapeshifter that internally struggles to settle on one form for long because he doesn’t understand or remember what he really looks like, so here? I was trying to do a Grian thing but I don’t know how to make him suffer so give me some time to sleep on it and I’ll come up with something 
> 
> Remember to love each other and yourself <3


End file.
